


all i want is to see you smile

by middlecyclone



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Human, F/F, Femslash February Trope Bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-14 04:13:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1252342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlecyclone/pseuds/middlecyclone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate Universe: Nobody's a werewolf, but Scott, Stiles, and Isaac are girls. Everybody's in a band.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all i want is to see you smile

**Author's Note:**

> Written (only a few hours over the deadline!) for the Alternate Universe: Band square of [Femslash February Trope Bingo](femtropebingo.tumblr.com).

“Lydia!” Stiles shouts, dropping her books on the lunch table where Lydia’s sitting, methodically eating a salad. “I have good news!”

“Calm, Stilinski,” Lydia says, taking a bite of spinach. “What’s up?”

“There’s a new girl in school!”

“Yes, and?”

Scottie slides down onto the bench next to Lydia, her curly dark hair bouncing as she grins. “And she plays guitar!”

Lydia drops her fork and glares at Stiles. “You couldn’t have led with that?” she snarks. 

Stiles just kind of vibrates with excitement. Lydia rolls her eyes and turns back to Scottie.

“What’s her name? Where’s she from? Is she good? Do you think she’ll audition for us?” 

Scottie shrugs. “Her name’s Allison. I don’t know about the rest.”

Lydia sighs, and picks up her fork again to stab half-heartedly at the salad. She, Scottie, Stiles, and Isaac have been playing together for almost a year, but it’s really hard to have an all-girl pop punk band without a decent guitarist.

It had been just her and Isaac at first, awkwardly trying and failing to play music with just a bass and a keyboard, and then Stiles had started drumming with them.

A month after that, they’d found Scott. Stiles kept bringing her to band practice – Lydia sincerely suspected that they couldn’t be away from each other for more than two hours without experiencing severe separation anxiety – and one day, they’d heard Scottie singing “Call Me Maybe” in the bathroom as she washed her hands. 

“What the hell, McCall,” Lydia had shrieked, slamming open the door.

“Woah, Lydia, this is my private time—“ Scott had said, startled. “What are you—“

“You’ve been listening to me struggle through Yeah Yeah Yeahs coversfor a whole month now and you never once mentioned that you had the voice of an angel?” Lydia had said furiously, crossing her arms in rage. “Unacceptable. You’re the lead singer now.”

“But I’m not that good,” Scottie had protested, and Lydia had just stared at her in undisguised incredulity.

“Bullshit,” she had said. “You’re incredible, and if I have to imitate Karen O for one more minute I am going to commit homicide. Dry your hands off and come sing.”

“But—“

“Come. Sing.” Lydia had repeated dangerously, glaring, and that was how Scottie had become the lead singer.

But they still didn’t have a guitarist. Isaac could play relatively well, but she much preferred being on bass, and anyway, it wasn’t like she could play both of them at once. Isaac had been working on teaching Scott guitar for ages now, but for all Scott’s natural musical ability when it came to vocals, she was absolutely terrible at guitar.

So the fact that there was a new girl at school, one who could play guitar, could be very good for them.

“Scottie, have you talked to her at all?” Lydia asks. 

“I let her borrow my pen,” Scott informs her. “She seemed nice. Wait, look, there she is!”

Lydia turns around and looks at where Scott’s pointing. There’s a tall brunette girl standing near the salad bar, clutching a brown paper lunchbag in her hands and looking around nervously for a place to sit.

“Oh, hell yes,” Lydia says, smiling delightedly, and then she’s jumping out of her seat and walking over to where the new girl is standing, heels clacking rhythmically on the tile floor of the lunchroom.

“Hi,” Lydia says to the girl, and even in her heels Lydia still has to look up to meet her eyes. “I’m Lydia. And you are my new best friend.”

“Um, what?” the girl says, confused. Up close, Lydia can see how gorgeous she really is. Her hair is long and dark and hangs in perfect curls, and her designer jacket is completely exquisite. Her eyes are literally Disney-princess sparkly, and her skin is just flawless. Lydia would hate her, but Lydia’s not the kind of girl to hate other girls because they’re pretty. She is, however, the kind of girl to steal all their beauty tips. 

But Lydia shakes herself back into the moment. The relevant point is not how pretty or unpretty the new girl – Allison? – is, but rather how well she can play guitar. “Your name is Allison, right? And you play guitar?”

“I – yeah,” the girl answers, frowning, “how did you know that?”

Lydia shrugs. “Gossip loop,” she explains. “Scott’s my friend. So, I’m in a band. And we want you to audition.”

Allison stares at her. “A band?”

“We’re an all-girl rock band, although we’re starting to work in more pop influences,” Lydia tells her. “I play keyboard. We’ve got a bassist, a drummer, and a vocalist, but we’ve got nobody who can play guitar at all. You can’t play rock music without a guitar.”

“Yeah, no,” Allison agrees. “What are you guys called?”

Lydia sighs. “Well, we don’t have a name yet,” she admits, “but we’re working towards something. Anyway, are you in a band right now? Would you be interested in joining ours?”

Allison grins and, wow, dimples, and tilts her head to the side. “I don’t know,” she says, “You guys might be terrible.”

“Fine,” Lydia says, and grabs Allison’s hand, scrawling an address across the smooth skin of her palm. “Come to practice after school today, see if you think we’re any good. If you’re interested, you can play for us; let us see if we think you’re any good.”

“I assure you,” Allison says, “I’m good.”

Lydia raises an eyebrow. “We’ll see,” she says, coolly, and leaves.

* * *

Lydia looks up from her keyboard when Allison walks in, guitar case in hand. “Oh, good, you decided to show up,” she says, pleased.

“Yeah, of course I’m here,” Allison says, “I can’t have you thinking I’m some sort of talentless hack.”

Lydia grins at her and stands up. “Well, this is my garage,” she says, waving a hand around expansively. “As you can see, it’s very high class and such.”

Allison laughs. “Obviously,” she agrees. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Isaac’s in the kitchen eating my cereal,” Lydia says, “And Scott and Stiles are late. Again.”

“Are they late a lot?” Allison asks, setting her case down and kneeling down to open it.

“Basically,” Lydia shrugs, “They’re probably making out in Stiles’ jeep.”

Allison looks shocked. Lydia frowns, heart sinking. “Is that going to be a problem?” she asks icily.

Allison shakes her head fervently, aghast and blushing slightly. “No, not like that!” she says hastily. “I mean, I’m … anyway, that’s not it. I just – dating inside the band? Really?”

Lydia shrugs. “We’re not, like, Fleetwood Mac or anything,” she tells Allison. “And anyway, Scott and Stiles have been best friends since they were born, basically. Not that much changed since they started kissing all the time a couple months ago. Even if they break up, they’re still going to be best friends. So whatever.”

Allison nods, and pulls her guitar out of the case, starting to tune it as she continues talking. “Makes sense,” she says. 

That’s when Isaac wanders into the garage, still holding a bowl full of cereal.

“Isaac, that better not be my Special K,” Lydia says threateningly. 

Isaac has the audacity to look completely shameless while taking an enormous bite. “I don’t know what this is,” she says around a mouthful of cereal, “But it’s got strawberries in it. It’s really good.”

“I will end you,” Lydia says menacingly.

“Ooh, can I help?” Stiles asks as she wanders in with Scottie. They both look rumpled, and Scottie’s hair is sticking up tellingly.

“No,” Lydia says, “You’re late. I’ll end Isaac, you get set up.”

Stiles rolls her eyes, but she heads over to her drum set anyway.

“Are you really going to get me for eating your cereal?” Isaac asks, genuinely curious, dribbling milk on her scarf. 

“No,” Lydia says, “You’re going to listen to Allison play, because you’re the only one who knows enough about guitars to tell if she’s good or not.”

Isaac, only now noticing Allison, perks up. “Oh, good,” she says, “You’re auditioning! This is so exciting! Scottie’s terrible.”

“I heard that,” Scottie says resentfully, but she can’t deny it. She is really terrible.

Allison bites her lip nervously. “I don’t actually have anything prepared,” she says.

“Play anything,” Isaac tells her. “Seriously, our standards are incredibly low right now.”

Allison laughs slightly, and plugs her guitar in. “Do you guys know Maps?”

“Do we know Maps,” Stiles snarks from behind the drums. “Seriously?”

“We’ve been trying to play it for months,” Scottie says, “But that’s really not a song you can do without a guitar. Like, at all.”

“You guys ready?” Lydia asks, heading back to the keyboard. 

“More or less,” Isaac says, setting the cereal bowl down on the ground and picking up her bass.

“Good. Count us off, Stilinski,” she orders, and Stiles does.

Allison is fucking incredible. Lydia sits there, playing chords on the keyboard, watching Allison’s fingers fly over the strings of the guitar at lightning speed. She doesn’t know much about guitars, but she can tell that Allison’s playing it right; she can hear how the song sounds almost acceptable for basically the first time in forever.

She can tell that everyone else can feel the way Allison just fits, too. Stiles is beaming so hard behind her drum set that Lydia is kind of amazed that she’s still drumming successfully. Scottie’s voice sounds even better than usual, if that’s even possible, and she’s smiling too. Even Isaac is smiling a little behind her scarf, and as soon as the song ends Lydia is dashing towards Allison.

“Congrats,” she says, throwing her arms around Allison’s neck in a hug. “You’re in the band.”

“Aren’t you guys gonna, like, vote on it or something?” Allison asks as she hugs back, confused. 

“Nah,” Scott says, hugging Allison as well, “We like you. You’re in.”

“Group hug!” Stiles shrieks, and joins them with a sort of flying tackle move. They almost lose their balance completely, but Isaac saves them from ending up on the floor in a heap of limbs.

“This is weird,” Allison says, her voice muffled beneath Isaac’s mass of curls. “This is so, so weird. Do you guys hug all the time?”

“We’re a very affectionate band,” Scottie tells her. “If you want to join, this is something you should get used to.”

Allison laughs. “I definitely want to join,” she says. “You guys are way better than I expected.”

“Thanks,” Isaac says drily.

“Do you want to play some of our original stuff?” Stiles asks. “It’s all pretty new, but—“

“Are you serious?” Allison cuts her off. “That would be awesome.”

“I do all the lyrics,” Stiles explains, “And Lydia does all the melodies and the arrangements and stuff.”

“Really?” Allison asks, looking at Lydia. “You?”

Lydia shrugs. “I have the most classical training,” she says, “It only makes sense.” She grabs her folder of sheet music and hands it to Allison. “You can look at this on your own, before our next practice,” she instructs her. “Now, we’re going to go out for a milkshake to celebrate you joining the band.”

“Awesome, I love milkshakes,” Scott says happily.

“Oh, you’re not coming,” Lydia says, turning to stare at her. “This is just a me and Allison thing.”

Allison frowns. “Wait, why?’

“Because it’s a date,” Lydia explains. Allison turns bright red. “Is that okay?”

“Yes!” Allison squeaks, still scarlet.

“Perfect,” Lydia says smugly. “Isaac, don’t you dare eat any more of my cereal. Later, dorks.”

And with that, she walks out of her own garage, Allison trailing a few steps behind, having had to stop to pack up her guitar.

* * *

Lydia looks at Allison across the booth of the old-fashioned diner. Allison looks back, her cheeks still slightly pink, smiling. Lydia wants to touch her dimples, which is kind of a weird thing to want, but whatever.

“So—“

“Um—“

They both start talking at the same time. Lydia laughs. “You first,” she says.

“No, you first,” Allison says, but Lydia just stares at her.

“So, um, how did you guys get started?” she asks.

“Isaac started it when she put up a flyer asking for auditions,” Lydia explained. “Before that, I’d always thought of her as the quiet weird girl in the back of all my classes who wore a lot of scarves and wasn’t very good at chemistry, so I was kind of skeptical about joining a band with her. But I needed more extracurriculars to put on my college applications, and joining a band sounded like way more fun than joining the cross-country team.”

Allison laughs. “Yeah, that seems about right,” she agrees. “So did you pick up keyboard specifically for the band?”

“God, no,” Lydia says, “I’ve been playing piano since I was four years old. My mom wanted me to be a classical pianist or something, and I love playing all that stuff, but I also love playing jazz and pop music and figuring out my favorite songs by ear, transposing and composing and all the rest. When I was fourteen my parents bought me a keyboard with a headphone jack so that they would stop being woken up at three in the morning by Brahms or Beyoncé coming from the grand piano in the living room. How about you? How long have you been playing guitar?”

Allison takes a sip of her chocolate milkshake and pauses to think. “Um, about five years, I think? I started gymnastics when I was five, and archery when I was nine, and then my aunt bought me a guitar when I was twelve. I broke my leg while playing soccer with my friends, and she said I needed a hobby that I could do while sitting down so I didn’t go stir-crazy. And I liked it so much that I kept playing even when I could get back out on the archery range. I like music; it’s … relaxing, kind of. It’s like the world around me disappears until it’s just me and the song, y’know?”

Lydia leans forward, elbows on the linoleum of the table, thighs sticking to the vinyl seat, because she does know. “That’s my favorite part,” she confesses. “Well, that and the math.”

“Math?”

“Math is my favorite thing in the whole world, and music is just math you can listen to,” Lydia explains. “Like, time signatures and perfect fifths and syncopation and chord progressions? All math, really. I love it.”

 

“Huh,” Allison says, tilting her head consideringly. “I’ve never really thought about it like that before, but you’re totally right.” Then she smirks, dimples deepening. “And I wouldn’t have pegged you for a math nerd, either. You’re way too pretty.”

“What, I can’t be pretty and smart?” Lydia says icily, disappointment creeping into the pit of her stomach. She’d expected more from Allison, honestly.

But Allison is just sighing and rolling her eyes. “I didn’t say that,” she says, “You’re clearly both gorgeous and brilliant. I just made an incorrect snap judgment. I mean, looking at me, you would never have guessed that I’m nationally ranked in archery or that my favorite book is Jane Eyre, but now you know these things. Because we’re on a date, the purpose of which is to learn things about the other one that we didn’t know before.”

Lydia stares at her. “Yeah,” agrees, “You’re totally right. I’m sorry.”

Allison grins and stirs her milkshake. “Apology accepted,” she says. “Tell me more about the band.”

“Actually,” Lydia says, “Let’s not. Let’s go back to my house and make out in my kitchen.”

Allison chokes on her milkshake. “What?”

Lydia frowns. “Did you not hear me? I said, let’s go back to my house and –“

“I heard you fine!” Allison says, scandalized. “I just – I’ve only known you for a day!”

Lydia sighs. “So you don’t want to make out in my kitchen,” she interprets.

“Not yet,” Allison tells her. “Like. I’m pretty sure I’ll want to make out in the kitchen at some point, just – not yet.”

“I get it,” Lydia says. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t,” Allison says, and Lydia can hear the honesty in her voice. “But we’re going to be in a band together, and even if Scott and Stiles aren’t gonna go all Fleetwood Mac on us, there’s no guarantee that we won’t. And I don’t want to. I really like you and I really want to be in this band, and I just think it would be a good idea if we, like, moved slowly.”

Lydia nods. “Yeah, I get it,” she says. “That’s smart. And I don’t want to mess anything up, either, because the band – well. The band does come first, to be honest.”

“And that’s the way it should be,” Allison says vehemently.

“I’m glad we’re on the same page,” Lydia smiles, and then sighs. “Okay, so definite no on the making out in the kitchen? Not even a little bit? You’re sure?”

“Very sure,” Allison confirms, and Lydia pouts. 

“Wanna go listen to Fleetwood Mac in my car?” Allison offers, and Lydia perks up.

“Yeah, okay,” Lydia says, “That’s almost as good.”

Allison rolls her eyes, but she looks happy, and Lydia feels happy too, hope welling inside her chest like a balloon. Maybe things are going to implode in a horrible Rumours-like situation, but she doesn’t think so. She thinks that she and Allison are going to work it out just fine.


End file.
